


Lace on Sweat

by Murf1307



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: High Heels, Lingerie, M/M, Stockings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bahorel kept the pumps. It was a week later he bought his own stockings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lace on Sweat

**Author's Note:**

> Because I couldn't let 'Barricade Boys in Lingerie Day' (also, my birthday) pass without contributing, I wrote this based on [villainyandgoodcheekbones's](http://villainyandgoodcheekbones.tumblr.com/) excellent fic about Bahorel in stockings, a skirt, and heels to help Cosette prove a point about the arbitrariness of how we gender clothing.

Bahorel kept the pumps. It was a week later when he bought his own stockings.

He smirked when the lady at the counter smiled knowingly and made a comment about some lovely lady having a good night in her very near future, and told her in no uncertain terms that there was a gingery motherfucker at home who was going to be very, very happy about this.

Well, hopefully.

He got home before Feuilly did, of course, and slipped into the stockings and his pumps — because they were definitely his now — and lounged on the couch, flipping channels.

He didn’t bother with anything else; perk of having sex with your roommate was that you could sit around practically naked whenever you wanted. Well, it was one of many, many perks that came along with the way him and Feuilly operated, to be sure.

He was zoning out to a _Friends_ rerun when Feuilly got home.

Poor fucker almost dropped the canvas he was carrying when he saw Bahorel, and Bahorel just smirked at him for it and motioned for him to come over, draping his legs over the arm of the couch nearest 

After a moment, Feuilly smirked right back. “Nice shoes. Wanna fuck?”

Bahorel chuckled lowly. “That’s the idea.”

Feuilly put his canvas down and prowled over to the couch. Bahorel felt himself starting to get hard, because fuck if Feuilly like this isn’t one of the hottest things he’s ever seen, all intent and focused on those fucking pumps and the stockings.

The stockings were white and edged with red lace, to match the heels. Bahorel liked them — they were pretty, and he was pretty fond of pretty things (like Jehan with flowers in his hair, or Feuilly curled up in a sunny window, or whatever. Bahorel was only human.).

Feuilly seemed to like them too, with the way his hands slid up Bahorel’s legs from ankles to garters, teasingly slow but almost utterly entranced.

“This is about the Cosette thing, right?” Feuilly asked. “You _motherfucker_.”

Bahorel nodded, his grin pretty much shit-eating by now. He yanked Feuilly up his body to kiss him. “Now get your fucking clothes off.”

Feuilly’s probably never gotten undressed quite that fast, and Bahorel’s never heard Feuilly moan quite the way he does when Bahorel wraps his silk-covered legs around Feuilly’s bare sides.

Needless to say, that lady at the register had definitely been half-right.

That night was fucking awesome.


End file.
